Between Illusion & Shadow
by Wunderkind4006
Summary: An Illyrian female isn't worth much, but an Illyrian female with a tender heart is worth even less. When everything that Zansi loves is put in peril, the desperate female defies her very culture and honour to protect it. In order to save her beautiful soul she first has to obliterate it. Eventual AzrielXOC romance, set during the events of the main series.
1. Chapter 1

_**First attempt at a 'Court of Thorns and Roses' fanfic. Found the books just after Christmas and pretty much devoured them whole. So I**_ _ **now have an unhealthy obsession with the idea of the Illyrian culture, and thus this story was born.**_

 _ **It exists on the outside of the main events of the series, weaving between them as plot dictates, and my aim is an eventual AzrielXOC romance-ish. 'Cause gosh darn it that poor honey needs to catch a break with the ladies. He has about as much luck as I do.**_

 _ **Anyhoo...well I'm excited. Don't send Cassian after me with a baseball bat if I make a few errors...I'm new...be merciful.**_

 _ **Well, gotta go scheme some more.**_

 _ **You know the drill...R &R and I swear I'll purr.**_

 _ **Laterz.**_

 ** _Oh and...This is a work of fiction no copyright intended. Any recognisable characters are the property of the original author, the rest is mine, yada yada. You steal and I'll rip your spleen through your nose with a thought. We cool? Great!_**

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 **Between Illusion & Shadow**

by

Wunderkind4006

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 **Chapter I**

The mist lay thick and muggy, weaving between our dirt-streaked ankles as we scrambled the rocky hillside.

"Zansi, you're too high." A squeaky, peeved voice echoed through the still air. "I'll tell Papa. You're not supposed to fly without his permission."

I ignored him. Besides, I wasn't flying, not yet anyway.

"Zansi!'

A stone skittered off the rock at my right hand. I swirled and barred my teeth at the mahogany haired child clinging to the rocks beneath me. His dirt specked cheeks puffing as a wicked grin split his face. One missing tooth and rich, golden eyes that sparked with mischief ruined any chances he had of appearing anywhere near threatening.

"You scared, sprout?" I leaned back, unfurling my wings wide for balance. "To high for the little baby?"

"No."

"Liar."

" _Zansi_."

I gave a bored growl. "Fine, I'll come down. You're such a spoil sport Zayde."

"Papa said-."

"Do you always do everything father says?" I inspected a nail, wings still flared and testing the down draught. My little brother pouted, actually pouted. I rolled my eyes and laughed, infuriating him further.

Just beyond the reach of my vision I saw light, the sun. I could almost feel its heat, almost feel its caress on my young wings. They were tough enough now for flight, all the baby silk and stretchy sinew replaced with bold, smooth, black-as-night Illyrian wings. I'd been practising for years in preparation for the days when I could do this for real, on my own, no escorts, and no talk of respectable behaviour.

A few more steps, that's all it was. In a few metres I'd clear the rocky incline and take that brief, euphoric step of freedom. I wouldn't go far. Probably just dive. But it would be glorious, and just enough to satisfy my desires, well, for a little while at least.

"Zansi, pleeeease," Zayde whined. His pudgy hand wrapped around my ankle and yanked.

My foot slipped back. I spun on him again, eyes wide.

"Uh Oh." I shrugged.

"What?" He yelped, hand whipping back in panic.

"I've lost my balance now."

"Zansi . . . nooo."

Zayde yowled as I ripped back from the rocks and tumbled. My fingers curling into his shirt as I dragged him with me, squishing him against my belly as we hurtled for the ground. I roared with laughter, whilst Zayde roared in fury.

It took seconds before I twisted and gave my wings a few mighty pumps. The motion turned us right way up in time to land. Two bouncy strides later and our feet hit the dirt. I dumped Zayde out of my arms, sniggering as he thumped to his knees and punched the ground.

"You didn't lose your balance," he accused, and swirled to jab a finger at me. "You did that on purpose."

"So what if I did." I dusted off dirt from the apex of my right wing. "Don't pretend you didn't love it, sprout."

"I'm not pretending." Zayde struggled to his feet, his own youngling wings fraying wide in anger. "Papa said I can't go to the war camp with roughed up wings. I'll only look weak."

"What has your puny wings got to do with my flying?" I snorted and strolled past him, outstretching my hand for him to take. "And, personally, I think turning up to father's camp roughed up and bruised would be an excellent way of scaring off the competition."

Zayde snapped up my hand and used his other to shove my hip. I giggled when the move didn't so much as make me sway. He belted my side again, face screwed up in concentration.

"You hit like a baby female," I said and caught his curled his fist. "And you'll shatter your hand punching like that." I tutted and shoved him in front, kneeling to his height. "Here, like this."

Zayde's brows smashed together as I demonstrated where to tuck his thumb and how to hook a good swing, then a solid jab. He copied my movements a few times. A grin lighted his features when he registered the strength and precision of those little amendments.

"Much better," I crooned, and gave his nose a gentle tap. "You'll do fine, sprout."

"You really think so?" Zayde looked to me then, his pretty eyes darkening in anxiety. "What if they don't like me?"

"They won't like you," I reminded him with a scoff. "Our father is too important. As far they're concerned your top of the hit list."

I ignored the look of pure terror that flitted briefly across his features. Fear should never be encouraged, especially not in the males, but something twisted my heart. Maybe it was his dirt specked cheeks, or that stupid, toothless smile, or the way he'd been my shadow since he was old enough to crawl, but I relented. I held out my arms, gripped his shoulders in my palms, and looked him dead in the eye.

"You are tough. You are brave." I flexed my fingers tight around his tiny shoulders. "You were born for this. Made for this . . . you understand me?" A resolute nod was his response. "Fear is just a feeling, your mind is stronger than that, you're above feelings. You got it?" Another nod. I gave him a damn hard shake. "Do. You. Hear. Me?"

"Yes." Zayde muttered and I shoved until he staggered back a few feet.

"I can't hear you?" I snarled and lunged for him, wings tucked tight and fists raised.

"Yes!" He balled back, and sprung for me.

He parried my punch with his crossed forearms, grunting with the effort. I pulled back, eyebrow quirked, then dove again. He jumped sideways, narrowly missing my kick to knock him off balance. Using my vulnerable lower stance, he flung out his arm ready to strike my throat. I caught him though. Caught him and twisted up his arm until he yelped.

"Easy sprout," I said, releasing his forearm and used the pad of my foot to kick his puny butt to the ground. "I'm still your _older_ sister."

Zayde sprawled across the dirt in a swearing, snarling mess. I huffed out a laugh at his livid expression as he barrelled for me again. This time I let him wrestle me to the ground, cackling breathlessly as he swung a flurry of useless punches over my head.

"Save your energy for the camp," I said and slapped his fists out of the way before sitting up on my elbows. "A few moves like that and those little pricks will be running home to their mother's."

"Yeah," Zayde gave a gruff giggle and slapped his fist against his palm. "I'm gonna make them cry like babies."

"That's my sprout." I winked and hi-fived him. He sat for a minute, both of us grinning at each other, before I watched that smile falter. I tilted my head.

"I'll miss you Zansi." He let out a loud sigh and slumped. "I wish you could come too."

"What? A female in a war camp?" I brayed at the very thought. "I wouldn't last five minutes. They'd clip my wings and toss me to the older males to do whatever they fancied."

"I wouldn't let them," Zayde spat, a white, hot spark of anger blaring in his gentle eyes. "I'd make them treat you good, proper like. And besides, I bet you're a better fighter than most of them."

I clasped my little brothers face in one hand. "Thanks for that, sprout, but it's not right for a female to go to a war camp. Besides, someone has to stick around here and look after mother. Keep bandits and all sorts of devils from our door, right?"

"I guess." His shoulders continued to sag. "But I'll still miss you."

"I'll miss you too," I replied. And before I could say another word he launched into my arms and hugged me so tight it hurt to breathe.

I wrangled my arms tight around his little body, ducking my face into his silken hair. I breathed in his earthy scent, memorised his quick heartbeat, and his sturdy form. I tried to reassure myself that he was strong, and fast, and ready for this, but he was leaving. My shadow would be gone before the sun sank below the horizon. He'd go away to the war camps, he'd go away and be so changed that by the time we met again the softness in his eyes would be long gone.

It was only a foolish hope to think he might still be my sprout underneath the brutality of our culture. I could only trust that some part of him would remember to be kind to others lesser than him, kind to females. It was a prayer that I had faith in, or at least it comforted me, that somehow our sibling bond would colour his view, even into maturity.

I'd miss him, but what other life was there for a female? No, this was my lot. The sun, the moon, and the stars always just a hairbreadth from my grasp. Freedom always just that little out of reach. Purpose, a foreign land I was forbidden to find.

But I could dream.

I tucked a stray lick of Zayde's hair behind his ear and gave his brow a swift kiss. He peeked up at me, not dissimilar to the way he did as a baby, and waited for me to speak.

"We still live under the same sky, sprout." I pointed upward. "If you miss me too much, just look up, and I promise somewhere I'll be looking back."

"You promise?" He curled a fist around my tunic.

"Promise."

"Double promise?"

"Triple promise." I grinned and snuggled my cheek against his crown. "Don't forget me, sprout."

"Never, ever," He whispered back.

I believed him.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter II

 **Sixty years later**

They came before dawn. I smelled their hate before they even broke down my bedroom door and wrestled me from the bed.

I felt their disdain through their hard, brutal hands where they crushed my wings and awful voices reminding me of everything I'd lost. My father's eyes unreadable and monstrous as he let them drag me like an animal for slaughter. My mother— _my mother_ —she only stared with vacant, broken eyes.

"No!" I screamed at the male closest, teeth barred as I kicked him in the groin. "You won't break me." I lashed my head back, smacking the head of other at my back. He cursed and loosed his grip. I ripped a blade from his boot. "No!" I shrieked, animalistic and broken. "No, I know what you want, no . . . I'll kill you all . . . or you'll have to kill me first."

"Zansi . . . enough."

Father's voice always caused a splinter of ice to form in the crevice of my chest. I choked on it. The anger, the hurt, the betrayal, it all collided at once.

"Please, papa, please don't let them," I begged, hand outstretched, fearful tears blinding my vision. "I did it for Zayde, please, I didn't mean to dishonour you. Papa, _please_ , please not my wings?"

He never flinched, not once. He only stared with those unrelenting, dominant, male eyes. I hated him for it. Hated that he never cared, never once cared that Zayde was gone. Never cared that all I ever did was only to bring justice for my brother. He went into that motherforsaken mountain and never came back. Never came home. He was too gentle, too loyal, and those bastard High Fea took every advantage of it. Now what? He wanted my wings clipped, keep me grounded so I couldn't cause any more trouble. I'd rather die.

"You've had too much freedom, for far too long," Papa said, eyes rolling upward in an exasperated sigh. "I blame myself. This will be good for you, daughter. You need to let go of your brother. He did his duty."

"He was a child!" I roared, lunging for my father. "You let him go. You could've put him in another legion, ordered him to stay home."

My mother flinched then, her deadened eyes filling with that echo of pain that just followed her like a shroud these past fifty years. I looked to her, begged her to say something, anything to make my father stop. He was punishing me for his own failures, and she let him. I didn't know who I hated more.

"He wasn't a child. He was a competent warrior, he survived the rite," father only rolled his shoulders. How could he be so dismissive? "You will not dishonour my son by referring to him as a child."

"He survived because of me!" I thumped my chest hard, as if I could beat the pain from it, somehow restart it after all these years. "I was there. Stop pretending I wasn't. You never cared then when I dressed up as a male and saved my brother. You didn't care then when I was advancing him. You turned a blind eye because I made Zayde look powerful. I _made_ you."

A stone hard fist collided with my cheek. My neck sprang back so fast I thought it would snap from my body. I spat blood, and a tooth, before I could look him in the eye again. My father was seething. Pure, unhinged rage rippled across his features as he ripped a fistful of my dark hair and yanked my head back so I had no escape from his wrath.

"Then it's you who we've all to thank for my son's death," he sneered against my ear. "You _made_ him. Constructed this illusion that he was a great warrior, and then let him go under the mountain. Why didn't you go then, daughter?" His fingers clawed tighter, pain shattered through my neck, while my heart felt like it was turning to ash in my chest. "You did this. Your reckless need to be considered one of the males. Your drive killed your brother . . . not me."

I buckled. My knees crashing to the ground as I tried to hold my chest together, convinced it was cleaving in two. _Why didn't I go?_ Because Zayde told me to stay. He stood on the fringe of the camp, on the eve of their departure to Amarantha's court, and made me swear to let him do this on his own. Made me promise not to take the risk. There were too many males, too many generals, someone would notice me, smell me out. Not even the High Lord himself could protect me from that, not even Zayde. So I stayed. I stayed when everything inside me screamed to go, to protect him, and I ignored it.

"I only ever wanted to make you proud," I sobbed into the stone floor, my nose almost touching the mosaic tiles. "I only ever wanted to protect him. I loved him."

"And look where that got him!" Father roared, and I felt those rough hands capture me again. "You are a disgrace for an Illyrian, and no daughter of mine. Masquerading as a male, binding your breasts, and breaking every sacred rule of our culture. What am I to do with such reckless disregard?"

There was no answer for him, at least none that he would listen too. So I dug deep and found a shred of dignity to hold my head high in the face of my demise. If I was to be mutilated to sate his sins then so be it, but I wouldn't go down without a fight. Yes, my truths tortured me. Yes, I cried myself to sleep every night thinking of every way I could rewrite the past, but it did no good. So I arose every morning and fought to find my answers. I'd never stop looking for my brother, I wouldn't believe he was gone. I went into the camps in disguise. I gleaned what I could. I made a list of names, warriors who returned from under the mountain, and I hunted them. There were those who had sided with Amarantha; it was my pleasure to find them and rip off their wings. The rest, I picked them off and questioned them, made them divulge what they knew and let them go. Scared them enough that they wouldn't be stupid enough to out me. But I'd reached too high this time.

I'd one name left. A name that was untouchable, the only survivor who mattered. Amarantha's whore, and my High Lord . . . it was a conflict to decide if I hated him or pitied him? But I was loyal to my people and the Night Court; one deluded, arrogant High Lord wouldn't change that. Maybe I was deluded myself to think I could reach him? Maybe infiltrating Devlin's camp and stalking his entourage was stretching my abilities. Maybe seeing him, and his confidants, argue for the females touched a nerve. Maybe I'd tarried too long and left my scent too near brutes who where only seeking some tail to rape. Maybe I'd left too clear of a message when I shattered said brute's nose. Either way I got caught. There's always a payment to be wrought when a female steps out of line. Always a punishment for her when she shows up the incompetence and brutality of the males. _Cowards._

"Don't think taking my flight will stop me," I said evenly, to all, not just my father. "Don't think for one second that I'll ever stop. I'll crawl if I have too, but I'll get justice for Zayde."

I wanted to say find. That I'll find Zayde. But I'd said it so many times before that I knew the reaction it garnered. They'd start calling me mad, and maybe I was, but grief was all I had left. I'd hold onto it if it brought me closer to him.

"You don't deserve to be called an Illyrian female."

She hadn't said a single word to me in months. She barely said anything, and she chooses now to speak. To grace me with her motherly assessment of her daughter. Cauldron, what did I ever do to deserve this?

"You don't mean that." I choked on the tears that lined my throat and burned my eyes. "Mother, _please_ . . . this is barbaric."

"You are barbaric," she muttered, her head falling into her hand. "You've broken this family, Zansi, you've shamed us all. Disfiguring a prominent male? Plotting treason against the High Lord? _What_ are you?"

"No! Not treason, I—." I suddenly realised then that nothing I said would matter. I saw it in their eyes. I'd damaged a male's pride and therefore any damned story would be believed over the truth, so I changed tactics. "So what? So what if I demanded an audience with a High Lord, it's the least he could do. The very least he owes us, owes Zayde." I angled my head to glare at my parents. "If you weren't prepared to sacrifice your position to upset your High Lord, then someone had too. It's just a cauldron damned pity I had to have more balls than my own father and his legion of warriors combined."

This time my father's rage didn't send me into blackness. It was the hilt of an Illyrian sword across the back of my head that sent me to the stars. I cursed them before the lights went out. I cursed their cowardice. A blow from behind? What honour is their in that? None. I was sick of fighting to mean something. Sick and filled with rage, for if that brute had of raped me this same scenario would've played out. It would've always been my fault, never his, never theirs.

xXx

I woke too soon.

There was pain. Blinding, all-consuming pain that raged through my body like a fire. I screamed and tore at my wings. I launched, nails exposed, at the male who touched me, who broke my wings.

" _No!"_ I roared so loud my voice broke into a tattered, hallow sound. " _My wings!"_

"Hold her down!" Someone shrieked and hands launched for me, but I was too far gone, too lost in the pain.

I slammed into the male, holding his face in my clawed hands, flailing and slapping my poor, poor wings in every angle. I dug my thumbs into his eye sockets, blood splattered his face and mine. Blood from my wings, his blood? I didn't know.

Someone tore me from behind. Grabbing my ravaged right wing and tossing me off balance. I ripped around, forcing a powerful blow to the perpetrator.

A sickening crack echoed through the room. It clanged through my bones, ripped straight threw my spine, and it took my feet from beneath me. I hit the ground, screeching inhumane sounds when my right wing felt wrong—powerless—agony. I held out my blood soaked hands and my screams intensified.

 _My wing_. I'd ripped my own wing.

I knew. The pain, it caused black and red spots to colour my vision. I saw the boney sinew and the wrong angle. The entire tear that severed it an inch from the highest, clawed apex. The blood gushed like a river, soaking me, drowning me. The others, they just stood and stared, mouths agape.

Air, and blood, crackled and popped in my lungs. I howled and howled, holding the dead weight of my right wing in my arms. I tried to stand, but the agony, I just fell again. The balance was shot, everything tilted to the left. I couldn't walk, couldn't stand without my wing.

" _My wings_ ," I cried into the night air. I glared at the three males who'd attempted to clip me, who'd caused this. "You severed my wing . . . you . . . you monsters." A broken wail sounded from somewhere deep in my chest as I beheld the snapped apex, the brittle bone poking out from the membrane, the deadness of the rest of the span. "I'm dying," I gasped and choked on the globs of blood that poured from my mouth and nose. " _Please . . ._ mother _please_ help me."

They just stared. No, they watched someone behind me. I dared the slighted twist, pain ravaged every muscle and I doubled over, left wing twitching, and my back convulsing with the strain.

"She did this to herself." Father moved from the shadows and walked past me, eyes unreadable, unfeeling. "Your rage destroyed you, Zansi. If the mother sees fit to let you survive this then perhaps you'll learn control, some semblance of obedience, and gratitude."

The males moved uncomfortably. All of them watched as my father tossed a knife my direction, then motioned for them to leave. I quivered and buckled under the pain and darkness swirling in my head. I felt tired, so very tired, and confused. Wouldn't he just kill me, wouldn't that be compassionate? But then, what did he know of compassion?

"This is your fault," my father spat, pointing a finger to me then to the horizon. "You're banished . . . what use have I for a mutilated female? No male would ever want this. You can bring our family no honour, you're a disgrace. Let the wilds decide if you live or die."

With that he left. They all left, taking with him any chance of hope, or even the heat of a fire. They just left.

I lay in a pool of my own blood, in a snow speckled, frost flecked landscape. I lay for so long that I lost feeling in my hands, in my feet, in nearly every part of myself. Death should've been near, but it never came. It just floated around the trees, never coming close enough to claim me, like a sadistic ghost. I hated being toyed with, so I started toward the shadows.

If death wouldn't come to me then I'd go to it.

Every step was agony. Every fall or stumble trailed an awful, devastated sound from my lips, but I kept on. I walked until I couldn't, then I crawled, and when my knees gave out, I pulled myself across the ground on my belly. I did everything to reach those shadows. I begged them to come closer. I bargained with them, but they stayed so far away.

At the very last, when it hurt to draw a breath, when even the slightest twitch of my finger sent arrows of acid burns down my back, I gave up. I held out my upturned palm to the shadows, neck craned, eyes glazed.

"Please . . ." my voice disappeared into a swirl of snow on the breeze.

The shadows swayed and moved, then paused. Did they hear? My finger twitched, the pain of the movement pushed tears from my dulled eyes.

A slender, sleek of dark mist slithered and coiled out from the rest. It crept along the snow, silent and mesmerising, then hovered at my fingertips. I hadn't the strength to speak, only to express the agony in my eyes, in the crippled set of my features, I wanted it to know. Wanted the shadow to know I was ready to go into it, there was no light left in me, I didn't want the light, just the comfort of the shadows. My memories where in those shadows, Zayde lived in those memories, I wanted to go there.

Like it heard me, the shadow slid down my finger, coiled around my wrist, and enveloped my body in comforting dark. An agonised, barely audible cry of relief dragged from my throat as I sank into the shadows. Yes, I could stop now. I could go be with Zayde. We'd play in the shadows of the mountain again. We'd fly like dark wraiths caught in time. Nothing would ever pull us apart again, not in the shadows.

The shadow that surrounded me grew and moved, it's shape more solid than I thought a shadow could be? I didn't care so long as it took me to that place it sung of, those spectres of memories. A world away, a place without feeling, without pain, just memory.

Then the shadow had eyes, and an ashen expression in the moonlight. Such a beautiful shadow. What a comfort he was, this shadow of mine, maybe the Cauldron wasn't so cruel to us Illyrian females after all?

I'd nothing to fear, at least that's what the shadow sung.

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 **Author Note: What so you guys think, huh? R &R if you can, and Thank You all so much for reading and favouriting...and to the reviewers...you beautiful, beautiful people, keep that sh1t up!**

 **So I finished Of Frost and Starlight! It was interesting, I have a lot feelings about it. What did you guys think?**

 **Anyhoo, it sort of slightly changed my timeline for this story because I loved more of the inclusion of the Illyrians...but it doesn't change my plot...other than I've firmly decided to set this after the events of A Frost and Starlight, because I think that makes the best sense for Zansi.**

 **Until next time!**

 **xxx**


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